


A Thousand Doors, A Thousand Lies

by Lobotomite



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13012008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobotomite/pseuds/Lobotomite
Summary: A place for all the various ficlets and prompts that don't deserve their own fic.





	1. Adam/OMC: Bad Bet

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after the end of chapter 9 of Bad Bet, from Adam's POV.

The door clicks closed in Adam’s face, and he has to force himself to step away rather than throw it back open or press his ear against it to try and find out what kind of shit Robert is talking. 

“I didn’t mean to make anyone uncomfortable,” Michael says quietly next to him, looking wary and a bit guilty.

“You didn’t do anything,” Adam replies firmly, reluctantly heading outside and towards his car. “Robert’s just a fucking dickhead who can’t handle Aaron not paying attention to him for two fucking seconds.”

He gets into the car, closes the door probably a bit too hard, starts then engine, then hesitates, fingers tight on the wheel. He knows he’s the one who suggested going into town, but…

“We can pick up some booze and head straight for mine, if you’d rather,” Michael offers, and Adam shoots him a relieved glance as he pulls out of the driveway.

“Cheers." 

The excitement of his team winning the game is long gone, dampened by frustration at Robert and worry for Aaron, and the first thing he does once they get to Michael’s tiny flat is down a shot before pouring them both a drink, slumping onto the couch next to where Michael is sitting. 

"You know, I thought you were exaggerating, considering the circumstances,” Michael says, taking a sip of his drink, “but he is a right tosser, in’t he?”

Adam snorts bitterly. “That and then some." 

They lapse into an easy silence, occasionally broken by a comment on whatever is on TV at the moment as they work their way through the bottle. 

Adam’s not drunk - not properly drunk, anyway, but tipsy enough that the weight of lost opportunities feels like a concrete block on his chest, the painful knowledge that he wouldn’t be sitting here aching for the best person to ever come into his life if he’d only not been a fucking coward for going on six damn years. 

He tips his head to the side, catching Michael’s eye, then drops his glass on the table and surges up into his space, twisting his fingers through his hair as Michael’s mouth opens easily against his. 

He might not have Aaron, but he doesn’t have to dwell on it. 


	2. Adam/Aaron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "There’s no use in hiding it, I know you love me"

The baby will not. Stop. Crying.

“C'mon, Jos,” he murmurs, bouncing the tiny boy in his arms, walking in what must be the thousandth slow circle of the day. “C'mon, mate, shh, it’s time to sleep. It’s time to give your dad a break, please, Jos, I know you’re knackered. You’ve  _got_  to be knackered. Look, here’s your sheepy, don’t you want to have a nice cuddle with him and a nap?” He plucks the soft toy off the table and waves it enticingly in front of his son’s face, cautious hope building in his chest when those pudgy fingers curl into the toy’s soft fur, only for that hope to be abruptly dashed as Josiah uses his clumsy grip to fling the poor sheep bodily onto the floor with a screech of indignation.

“Right,” he mutters, adjusting his grip with a sigh. “Sheepy’s in the bad books, then.”

This is when he feels the most useless; when he’s done everything he can think of to make his son comfortable and happy, but he’s screeching like his world is ending and nothing has been able to make him stop. He knows that he’s going to have to get used to not being able to fix everything as a parent, but god, it’s terrifying when he’s so small and fragile and  _fucking loud_.

Josiah is a good baby, really – Aaron knows they’re lucky that he usually doesn’t put up much of a fuss when he’s being put down to sleep, that’s he’s overall a cheerful, low maintenance kid. But he’s still a baby who doesn’t sleep for very  _long_ , so him and Adam’re both still running on a chronic lack of rest, and some days (like today) when Jos just is not having it, he wants to burst into tears right alongside him.

But he just walks around some more, gently bouncing and cooing to him, pressing kisses to his downy hair and red, angry face, and gradually the wails slow into sobs, the sobs trail off into whimpers, and finally, finally, he’s snuffling into Aaron’s shirt and drifting off to sleep.

He keeps up the pacing for a little longer, scared of rousing him while putting him down, but Josiah continues to doze on his chest and eventually he decides it’s safe to place him in his crib.

And then Adam barges in and all hell breaks loose again.

Well, that’s a slight overreaction. The door bangs open louder than Adam likely meant it to and the dogs bound over to see him with low whines of delight, but to Aaron’s frazzled ears the door sounds like a gunshot and the dogs are thundering across the floor in a cacophony of delighted, high pitched whining and thumping feet. Unfortunately, Josiah is of the same opinion as him and startles awake, face crumpling and little lungs inflating for another round of overtired wailing.

“For  _fucks_  sake,” Aaron snaps, having to immediately start shushing when that prompts a louder cry.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry. He’s usually done with his nap by now.”

“I  _know that_ ,” Aaron growls, glaring at Adam as he comes over but not resisting as he wraps his arms gently around the both of them, pressing a kiss first to the top of Josiah’s head and then to Aaron’s mouth.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. Come on, give him here, I’ll take him for a bit.”

Aaron gladly relinquishes his hold – Adam started off this round of crying, he can handle it – and Adam swings their son around, cooing baby talk and beaming.  _He wouldn’t have that look on his face if he’d been here all day,_  Aaron grumps to himself – unfairly, he knows, because Adam spends just as much time at home with him as Aaron does and has been through just as many nap-time battles, but Adam woke him up so Adam gets to be the target of his ire until the screaming stops.

Except the screaming stops infuriatingly quickly, Josiah almost immediately dozing off again with his tiny fingers twisted in Adam’s shirt. Adam turns to look at him with a smug smile on his face, and Aaron just glowers at him and wishes that looks could kill.

Okay, maybe not  _kill_. Maim. Inconvenience. Incinerate that beard that’s getting too long again and maybe singe off the eyebrows, while he’s at it.

“Come on,” Adam croons, hand looking impossibly large as he gently strokes his fingers over Josiah’s head. “Get that scowl off your face, I just saved you from another few hours of his screaming.”

“ _You’re_  the one who set him off again in the first place,” Aaron hisses back indignantly, and the asshole just laughs quietly, walking over to Josiah’s room and emerging a few seconds later baby-free.

“I’m sorry for setting him off, babe,” he says, following after Aaron as he slumps down on the couch, petting Princess when she bounces immediately onto his lap. “I just wanted to come spend some time with my gorgeous husband and darling son on my break.”

“Didn’t have to be so  _loud_  about it,” Aaron grumbles.

“Come ooon,” Adam wheedles, throwing himself onto the couch beside him and slinging an arm across his shoulders, nuzzling against his cheek and then behind his ear when Aaron twists his head to the side, failing to hide his smile. “There’s no use hiding it, I know you love me.”

“God knows why,” Aaron sighs, but he’s smiling and successfully charmed, and he goes with it when Adam cradles his jaw and pulls his head around and into a deep kiss. He might be frazzled and sleep deprived and distressingly sex deprived and his husband might be incapable of navigating the world quietly, but god, he wouldn’t trade this for anything.


	3. Aaron/Ross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I’m baking a bunch of go fuck yourself cookies for you”

At first he thinks Ross let himself out while Aaron was asleep; he’d kind of been looking forward to taking advantage of having the house to himself for the weekend, but he’s not all that bothered - it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. But when he shuffles into the living room he’s hit with the smell of cooking and the sight of Ross puttering about shirtless in his kitchen.

“What’s going on here, then?” he calls out, grinning when Ross starts and swears, twisting around to give him a flustered glare.

“I’m baking a bunch of go fuck yourself cookies for you, obviously,” he snaps, turning back to the sizzling pan.

“Oh, ay?” He says, walking lazily over to lean on the counter and watch Ross at work. “Because it looks a lot like you were in the middle of making me breakfast in bed. Going soft on me, Ross?”

“You wish,” Ross snorts. “I was making myself breakfast because I was hungry and you were being lazy and sleeping in.”

Aaron decides not to point out the two plates sitting on the counter and the fact that Ross has clearly made enough for the both of them, watching quietly as Ross serves them both. He rolls his eyes as Ross proceeds to ignore Aaron and take his own plate over to the couch, stretching out and turning the TV on like he owns the place.

“Ta,” he says when he settles in next to him, gently knocking his knee into Ross’s and prompting a low grunt in return, the best he knows he’ll get. Not one for admitting he’s done something thoughtful, is Ross and Aaron is happy to pretend he hasn’t and eat in mutual silence.

“Don’t think I’m gonna make a habit of this,” Ross warns when they’re done and he’s shoved his dirty plate on top of Aaron’s to make him take it to the bench along with his own (“Could have just asked,” Aaron muttered, which Ross doesn’t deign to respond to) and Aaron just shakes his head, amused.

“Don’t worry, Ross,” he says, “I wouldn’t dream of thinking you being considerate would be anything other than a one time thing.”

“Good,” Ross says, twisting around to eye him up. “Because there’s a reason I’m still here, and it’s not to make you breakfast.”

Aaron raises his eyebrows, meeting Ross’s gaze and doing his best to keep his face neutral.

“Oh? Well, I guess we’d better change locations then,” he says, matching Ross’s answering smirk and following him out of the room.


	4. Adam/Aaron

_**"How much did you drink?"** _

Okay, so he was late. A little bit late. Well, a little bit later than he'd already said he would be, anyway - so, all in all, pretty damn late, if he's being entirely honest. He did not, however, expect to make his way over to their usual table in Bar West and see his boyfriend wrapped around another man.

"Oy," he scolds, kicking the booth they're sprawled in. "Get your hands off my boyfriend, you."

"He's the one with his hands on me!" Benji protests, shooting Adam his trademark angelic grin over the top of Aaron's head.

Aaron twists around at the sound of Adam's voice, face lit up as he pushes himself up - clumsily - to greet him, before he remembers that he's probably meant to be upset with him and attempts unsuccessfully to school his face into a disappointed look.

"You're late," he accuses.

"And you're drunk," Adam says, grinning when Aaron wraps his arms around him, apparently already forgetting he was meant to be angry. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Not much," he over enunciates against Adam's neck, as everyone else at the table mouths 'a lot' at him.

"Right, I can see that," he mutters, nudging Aaron over to where there are two seats open. "Why don't you fill me in on what I missed, then."

Honestly, he'd had to force himself to make it tonight; it had been a long, long day at work, he was tired, it was incredibly tempting to beg off and just go collapse in front of the TV at home. But with Aaron warm against his side, fingers threaded through his, their friends bright and cheerful around them - there's not many places he'd rather be right now.

 

***

 

_**"Okay, where are all my jumpers?"** _

"For fuck's sake," Adam growls, tossing yet another shirt to the side and giving up on his search, pulling on a jumper from Aaron's side of the wardrobe.

"Okay, where the fuck are all my jumpers?" He complains, walking into the living room with his hands shoved into the - really soft, actually, he might need to steal Aaron's clothes more often - pockets of his borrowed jumper. "I swear, I get them clean and the next day they're all gone or dirty."

His useless husband doesn't even look up, making a vague "I dunno" noise while chewing on the sleeve of the jumper he's curled up in. The jumper that Adam is one hundred percent sure he remembers buying. _For himself_.

"It's almost like someone in this house is a dirty fucking jumper thief," he continues, walking around the side of the couch with a pointed gaze fixed on Aaron, who is steadfastly pretending not to notice.

He can't keep that up, though, when Adam straddles him, pulling Aaron's arm away from his mouth and raising his eyebrows at him.

"You wouldn't know who that could be, would you, babe?" Aaron shrugs, eyes glittering and clearly fighting a smile, teeth digging into his bottom lip as the corners of his lips curl.

"No idea. Maybe Gerry's been getting into them - right little troublemaker, that one." His hands slide from where they'd settled on his hips to his thighs. "Good thing you're such a forgiving person who won't hold it against him, innit." He leans forward, pecking Adam on the mouth, once, twice, then hooks an arm around his shoulders to pull him into a proper kiss.

"This discussion isn't over, you know," Adam mumbles against Aaron's mouth, ignoring Aaron's knowing hum and the fact that this must be the thirtieth time at least that he's said that exact thing.


End file.
